


Every Man To His Station

by oldenglish



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Gen, I did my best, Idk what i'm doing, Like, SO, if that's what you were looking for turn around now, there might also be some issues with formatting?, there's no romance in here, this is literally my first ever fic, well first one that i've posted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenglish/pseuds/oldenglish
Summary: Wherein the Terrorbus’s make one last ditch effort at survival and Jopson questions his place in the chain of command.





	Every Man To His Station

Thomas Jopson couldn’t decide if the Arctic landscape was beautiful or not. It was a quandary he had struggled with even on his first expedition and, though he imagined it shouldn’t be so difficult as to take up so much of his thought, he still hadn’t made a decision on this, in his second expedition. 

He wondered how a land so terrifying could even be considered beautiful. It was a place that wanted them all dead. In the stillness of night that lasted for a near uncountable amount of days he could feel the cold indifference, the cruel neglect. And then in the moonless summers, filled with unrelenting silver sunlight, there seemed to be nothing but malice, he could hear it in the tortured screams of the ship’s timbers, when they had been on the ship. He could see it in the eyes of the other men around him, how they seemed to be weathered away to nothing but gaunt hunger. 

Still, if he detached himself, he could see something beautiful in it, something haunting in its foreignness, if he let himself forget that it was the very terrain that was trying to kill them. He imagined that was how Dr. Goodsir saw it, detached, not as something to be conquered or survived, just as something that was, that always had been, that always would be, whether they were there to see it or not. Thomas Jopson wished that he could see it the way the doctor did. Perhaps it would make things easier. 

But, as it was, he couldn’t stop the yearning from blossoming in his heart, the homesickness for trees, for the smell of pine filling his lungs, for a sun that bathed everything in gold. 

He imagined though that, detached or yearning, neither would make his job any easier, a job that only seemed to grow in weight across his shoulders, a responsibility to his captain and his crewmates. He couldn’t let them down. He wouldn’t. 

He had a job to do. 

He walked through camp, cutting past the tents, feet crunching across shale, a sound he was still trying to teach himself not to pay attention to. 

He had the camp memorized, a map of it laid out in his head. Captain Crozier’s tent sat center and north, with Captain Fitzjames sat close by, like eyes in a skull. The lieutenants were scattered close at hand, forming the connections of the full brain, constantly channeling information in and out. And, if the captains and lieutenants were the head, then Thomas had determined that Dr. Goodsir was most certainly the heart. His tent sat at the center of camp, or as close to center as possible, easily accessed and the most deeply entrenched, protected on all sides. 

It was to the doctor’s tent that Thomas went. 

He was about to enter when Mr. Collins pushed past him, shouldering by as he exited, looking steadily more doleful and despondent by the minute. Thomas thought to hail him, then thought better of it, and entered instead.

“Dr. Goodsir, I wonder if I might trouble you for a . . .”

The words died on his lips as he looked up to find himself in the midst of a small gathering. Dr. Goodsir, Mr. Bridgens, and Lieutenant Little all looked back to him with varying shades of surprise. 

“What seems to be the matter, Lieutenant?” Dr. Goodsir asked, turning on his stool to face him completely. 

Thomas felt his heart stutter at the word ‘Lieutenant,’ but did his best not to let it show. 

“It’s not for me, it’s Cap’n Crozier,” Thomas continued, remaining composed. “He requests your presence at your earliest convenience.” 

“I can already guess what that’s about,” Lieutenant Little said, more to himself than to anyone else. 

“Pardon?” 

“There’s talk of putting together another excursion,” Little answered, sounding tired. 

“For the outpost?” 

“No,” Little started.

“For antiscorbutics,” Dr. Goodsir finished.

There was a short pause that fell between the three of them like the sort of reverence one might find in a church.

“One last ditch effort,” Little muttered, again more to himself.

“There’s no room on this voyage for pessimists, Lieutenant,” Mr. Bridgens said, breaking his silence at last as he looked to Lieutenant Little.

“Ah, yes, but a realist --.”

“We were only just discussing the matter,” Dr. Goodsir said quickly. “Discussing who we might ask to volunteer.”

“Or who we’ll need to order,” Little added.

“It won’t come to that,” Mr. Bridgens countered.

“No?” Little shifted against the edge of the desk he was leaning on to better face the aging steward. “The ones who would go of their own volition are too sick to do so, and those who aren’t too sick would more than likely have to be forced.”

“But we all want to survive Lieutenant --,” Dr. Goodsir said meekly.

“No one wants to waste their energy on something other than food,” Little exclaimed. “You saw Mr. Collins.”

“Mr. Collins is not a prime example for the rest of the camp,” Mr. Bridgens said quickly.

“And this is just as important as food,” Dr. Goodsir added, “if we could only make them see that.”

“If it weren’t for that thing --.”

“I’ll go.”

All eyes fell on Thomas, and he tried not to let it sway him. The conversation had been devolving and his answer had been a snap decision, but it was sincere nonetheless.

“You wouldn’t need more than a couple people, I should think,” Thomas continued, speaking into the silence. “You, Doctor, and someone to aid you . . . Besides, there’s not much else to do around here.”

Dr. Goodsir and Lieutenant Little exchanged a brief glance with one another as if he wouldn’t notice, and he glared at them critically.

“Then I’ll go, as well,” Lieutenant Little said at last, finally pushing off the desk, unfolding his arms.

“What?” Thomas asked, blinking owlishly.

“It’s not like there’s much else to do,” Little answered sardonically, clapping Thomas on the shoulder as he passed by, making his way out of the tent.

Thomas looked back to Dr. Goodsir and Mr. Bridgens, hoping that one of them might explain, but neither of them looked like they knew any more than he did.

“Mr. Bridgens, would you be so kind as to join them?” Dr. Goodsir said instead, turning in his seat to the man in question. “I fear I am too much needed in camp.”

“Of course, doctor,” Mr. Bridgens answered, giving Thomas one final glance before turning his full attention to the doctor. “If you’d only inform me of what we are to be looking for. . .”

Thomas understood the cue and silently took his leave, turning on his heel and exiting out of the tent.

He had half expected Lieutenant Little to be waiting for him, but he wasn’t there, already having disappeared in among the small maze of tents.

Thomas felt heavy, weighted with exhaustion, and he tried to convince himself that it was from the frustration of an unfinished conversation, but the taste of blood in his mouth told him otherwise. Though it hadn’t been his main reason for coming to the doctor’s tent, the captain’s message had been his main directive, he had hoped to ask Dr. Goodsir about the blood, the bruises, the exhaustion. But, with the others there, it didn’t seem so important. He heard the doctor and Mr. Bridgens speaking in the tent behind him and, for a moment, he entertained the idea of going back in.

While he was thinking, he hadn’t heard someone approach him from the tent behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone came at his elbow.

“I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant,” Dr. Goodsir said, “your assistance will be more than beneficial.”

Thomas gave a curt nod in acceptance then, realizing what the doctor had said, he looked away and down, not meeting his eyes.

“I almost wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Thomas said at last, almost feeling guilty.

“What? Lieutenant?”

“I don’t feel as though I’ve earned it.”

“Well,” Dr. Goodsir started, giving an amiable smile, “I believe if they can call me doctor, then they can also call you Lieutenant.”

“I’m only a steward,” Thomas retorted half-heartedly.

“And I am only an anatomist,” Dr. Goodsir said. “You may yet surprise yourself, Lieutenant Jopson.”

Thomas finally returned the doctor’s smile, giving him another appreciative nod as the doctor gave him a reassuring pat on his arm. And at that, Dr. Goodsir left, returning back into the tent, leaving Thomas alone in the camp

###

“I understand the need, I just . . .”

“You don’t approve,” Captain Crozier finished, only paying Lieutenant Little half of his attention as he studied over the charts in front of him.

“No! No, that’s not what I mean,” Little countered quickly.

Crozier looked up at him, raising a brow, sending him a withering glare that Little shrank away from.

“If anyone was more deserving, it would be him,” Little corrected, toning down his voice. “It’s just that, with the way things are . . . “

You’re worried.”  
“I’m worried that this is a trial by fire,” Little said, words falling on a dejected sigh.

“You’re worried that he won’t stand up to it,” Crozier continued, looking back to the charts, measuring distances he’d measured at least a hundred times over.

“With the way the men are lately,” Little tried again, his voice pinched, “with rumors of mutiny, even . . . I don’t know how any of us will stand up to it.”

A silence fell between the two of them as they stood motionless, Crozier still bent over the table, both fists pressed into its surface, Little towards the wall of the tent, arms crossed, the light of the lantern flickering over his face. Even just the word was enough to put them both on edge.

“I don’t know that it’s fair to him,” Little said at last.

Crozier’s brow furrowed and Little found himself trying to decipher the captain’s thoughts in just minute expressions, wondering what laid even just the squint of his eyes, the fall of his shoulders. Crozier had never been easy for Little to read, and was only until recently unapproachable, more often than not making an island of himself and it frustrated Little on most days. Maybe that was one advantage the new Lieutenant Jopson had over everyone else: he knew the captain.

“Needs must, Edward,” Crozier said at last. “Nature isn’t fair to any of us, and we are stretched far too thin.”

“We’ve set him up to fail.”

Crozier looked up to him again, this time with deep consideration in his gaze as he studied the lieutenant over. Little felt uneasy in the captain’s scrutiny, resisting the urge to squirm.

“We don’t know that yet,” Crozier said at last, his voice far from the usual commanding, grave tone Little had become so used to.

If it weren’t for the captain’s tone, Little would have argued, but he truly wanted to believe him.

Lieutenant Little had never been particularly close to, or even fond of, Captain Franklin when he had been around; Little had always felt that Franklin’s words and actions never matched up, and Little liked to think he had seen through Franklin while he was still alive. But he hadn’t. And now that Franklin was dead, Little couldn’t help but imagine that Franklin was dragging them all down that hole with him. Captain Crozier was the only person who made him believe otherwise. As surprised as he was to admit it, Crozier was the only one that gave Little hope.

But now it seemed as though they were all barely treading water, and Little didn’t know whether to foster the flame or to just let go. Edward Little felt like a man that was a breath away from falling into a pit, like he was holding on to mere filaments.

“Then there’s this excursion,” Little continued, sounding far more shaky and unsteady than he had intended.

“The men will benefit from it.”

“Only if we find anything,” Little exclaimed, “otherwise it’s a waste of resources."  
“We can’t risk not looking,” Crozier said.

“We should be putting the efforts towards hunting parties, not some useless search for something we don’t even know exists.”

“It’s only three men, Lieutenant,” Crozier said with a small, incredulous laugh, looking up again. “If I can’t spare that many men then times truly are desperate.”

Little imagined he would’ve blushed in embarrassment if his face hadn’t already been burned by the constant wind, even then he was sure the change in color was noticeable.

“I’m only saying that --.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Crozier continued, “but if the doctor thinks that he can find something even remotely close to an antiscorbutic, then I have to have faith in him.”  
_‘For the sake of the men,’_ Little imagined him adding to the end of his sentence.

It was a fool’s hope, Little knew, and only a fool would believe in it. But, only a fool could think that they could pass through the Arctic unscathed so, he thought, maybe he could allow himself to hold on to those filaments a little while longer.

He finally stepped forward into the full light of the lantern, resting both his hands on the table, putting his full weight onto them as he looked over the maps across from the captain. He took in a heavy inhale, holding it in his lungs for just a moment before finally speaking.

“Then what are your orders, sir?”

###

  
The next morning was crisp, even by Arctic standards, and the air burned in the back of Thomas’s throat as he made his way to the doctor’s tent, where he was meant to meet with the other two men.

He was more tired than usual. The exhaustion had been gradual, slow creeping vines working their way to the inside of his joints, so subtle that he had hardly noticed, until it was all he could notice.

Crunching across the shale on the ground did nothing to aid it, each step sending bolts of pain shooting up through him. A pounding headache was beating its way into his temples, slowly growing louder.

He was focusing hard on ignoring the pain when he looked up to see the doctor coming out to meet him, dragging a small sledge behind him as he went. Thomas stopped, giving a brief greeting as the doctor approached, staring curiously over the supplies tied down.

“What’re you doing, doctor?” Thomas asked.

“I’m to join you.”

“Where’s Mr. Bridgens?”

“It seems that he was needed even more than I was,” Dr. Goodsir said gravely.

Thomas looked over his shoulder to the tent just beyond to see Mr. Bridgens with Harry Peglar at his side. He had Harry’s arm over his shoulder, Harry pressed into his side as he leaned against him, moving slowly, struggling to drag his feet from one step into the next.

Thomas looked back to the doctor, his face matching Dr. Goodsir’s grave tone.

“Shall we?” the doctor said, still grim. “Lieutenant Little will be waiting for us.”

Thomas nodded and they started off again.

“Can I take that for you, Doctor?” Thomas asked as they walked, looking back to the sledge.

“No, it’s quite alright, Lieutenant,” Goodsir answered, his eyes still fixed ahead. “Although, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of opportunity to trade off once we’re in the field.”

Thomas nodded, trying not to admit to himself that he was thankful that Dr. Goodsir hadn’t taken him up on the offer. He was certain that he would be able to handle the trek for the day, he had enough strength in him for that at least.

They met Little at the edge of camp, finding him pacing in a small circle, kicking idly at the shale underfoot. He had a shotgun on either shoulder. He looked up to the both of him without any surprise and Thomas assumed that Dr. Goodsir had already informed him of the last-minute switch.

“We have a short amount of time before we must be back at camp,” Little explained as they came closer. “We are to stay south. We’ll travel as far as we can, but we’ll have to be back before night.”

Little passed the extra gun to Thomas with a nonchalance that spoke of trust and Thomas felt heartened by it, if only a little.

“We stay close together, don’t leave each other’s line of sight,” Little added.

Thomas furrowed his brow, looking at the other lieutenant critically, but decided to hold his questions. If these were the captain’s orders, he wouldn’t test them, but they seemed inefficient at least.

“Are we ready?” Little asked.

Thomas and the doctor both nodded. Little looked them both over, and Thomas couldn’t help but notice that he seemed nervous, at least to him, perhaps uneasy.

Little gave one final nod before turning on his heel and leading the way, Thomas and Dr. Goodsir following behind at either side of him.

Thomas could understand the lieutenant’s nervousness, if he was nervous. There were plenty of things that could go wrong on their small excursion, especially with the camp’s only doctor traveling with them. And they hadn’t seen the creature in some time. But Thomas didn’t think that their fear should limit their search.

They continued on for an uncountable number of steps, the camp disappearing behind them, the sun in the sky giving them no real hints as to the time of day. Silence held them all in its grasp.

Dr. Goodsir stopped every so often to look more closely at the ground, trying to determine if what he saw was a plant or a trick of the light and uneven terrain. Thomas did the same, crouching down, even though his joints protested, looking over the shale, calling the doctor’s attention to things that he thought might be of interest. Lieutenant Little kept watch.

Thomas kept his headache in check, the pain starting to grow out of hand, even the scraping of the shale underfoot becoming more than he could bear, though he did his best not to let it show.

“Is this important, Doctor?” Thomas asked, looking over what looked to be a moss he had found close to the dirt under the shale. His voice was shaky and he wondered if either of them noticed.

Dr. Goodsir was at his side in a moment, looking over his shoulder.

“It could be,” the doctor replied.

Thomas moved aside and the doctor scraped up what he could of the plant, pressing it into a small vial.

“We should start back for camp,” Little said, just a few yards away.

Thomas looked up at the sky, trying to determine the time, trying to decide if he had the energy to make the argument he had been holding onto.

“We should fan out,” he said at last, rising with no small amount of difficulty as he dusted off his knees. “We can cover more ground in less amount of time as we head back.”

Little looked at him incredulously, his tension starting to mix with his annoyance.

“Because those were our orders,” he answered.

“But splitting up will be more efficient.”

“It could also get one of us killed,” Little fired back, glancing back at the doctor who was exploring a small rock overhanging, a ledge of some kind that formed a sort of cave.

“Then you can stay with the doctor and I can scout ahead,” Thomas continued.

“No.”

“What is it?”

Little’s answer had been final, but Thomas’s challenge was clear.

“That creature is still out there,” Little said emphatically, enunciating each word, sounding more urgent than angry.

“We haven’t seen it in months --.”

“That doesn’t mean that it’s gone,” Little exclaimed.

“That’s not your only concern, is it?”

Little clamped his mouth shut, drawing back as if Thomas was winding up to punch him. In any other situation, Thomas would do what he could to avoid confrontation, but the pain was putting him on edge, and he began to think that his anger might be misdirected. But he couldn’t quite stop himself.

“It’s as if you and every other lieutenant have been walking on eggshells around me and I don’t understand why,” he continued, his words rushed but lacking energy. “I’m only doing the best that I can. If I’m doing something wrong, then I should be told so I can fix it, don’t leave me guessing.”

Little’s brow furrowed, looking him over pensively as he floundered.

“That’s not --.”

“Lieutenant Jopson?”

The doctor’s call cut Little short, and both lieutenants swiveled in a single, synchronized motion, looking for him.

“Doctor?” Thomas called, unable to find him.

“I’m here.”

The doctor’s head popped up from the outcropping under the rock overhanging a small distance away.

“I could use your assistance,” the doctor added, dropping back down so that he was completely hidden.

Thomas gave one last glance at Lieutenant Little before finally heading in the doctor’s direction, his stride quick but hesitant, his joints resisting him.

He reached the outcropping, crouching down and looking over the edge at Dr. Goodsir, Little standing behind him, looking over his shoulder.

“What can I help with, sir?” Thomas asked, leaning a little farther, adjusting the gun strap across his shoulder to keep it from falling.

“I’ve found a plant that I would like to take samples from,” the doctor explained, “but it refuses to cooperate. The thorns, you see.”

The doctor shifted, moving aside so that Thomas could see. It was a small, wild shrub of some kind that, if Thomas had found it at home, he would have called it a weed. The thorns stuck out dangerously, at least two inches long, its leaves hardy and nearly the same color as the gravel it grew out of.

“I’ve already stabbed myself at least a dozen times,” Dr. Goodsir continued idly.

Thomas glanced askance at him and the doctor shrugged.

“It has deep roots, which is why I think it might be promising,” the doctor answered. “And I remembered your patient temperament, which I felt might serve better here.”

Thomas blinked at him for a moment, then gave a sheepish half smile, unsure of how to accept the compliment. Finally, he jumped down into the outcropping as Dr. Goodsir made room for him, taking care to dodge the over hanging as he went. The shock as he hit the ground rattled through him, stealing his breath away, and he took a moment for his vision and head to clear as he steadied himself.

With his composure returned, Thomas rearranged himself, stepping cautiously around the plant, taking a careful grip on the stem close to the roots. The thorns stabbed at him, there seemed to be no way to avoid them, and he ignored it, the pain minor compared to everything else.

He pulled gently, taking his time, pulling with the plant rather than against it as it gave way. He dug the roots the rest of the way out, taking care not to damage them as they finally released and he had the full plant in his hand.

“Is this it, doctor?” Thomas asked, turning to him.

“Yes, that’s perfect,” Dr. Goodsir said, giving him an appreciative smile as he took the plant with delicate hands. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Thomas climbed out first with the help of Lieutenant Little, Thomas hoping that it didn’t show how much effort it took him. Dr. Goodsir followed close behind, taking either man’s hand after having stowed the plant away in a satchel slung across his chest.

Thomas examined his hands as they walked back to the sled, looking closely at the wounds from the thorns, surprised at how they bled. He hardly even noticed.

“I believe I brought some antiseptic for that, Lieutenant,” Dr. Goodsir said from his side.

Thomas nodded in acceptance and the doctor began searching over the sledge for the antiseptic. Meanwhile, Little looked to the horizon, checking their heading, getting ready to put them back on course for camp. Thomas followed his gaze, making a guess for the correct direction and, if Little’s gaze was anything to judge by, he was correct.

“We need to start back,” Little said.

“It seems as though I’ve left it, Lieutenant,” Dr. Goodsir said, still rummaging around the sledge. “It’ll have to wait until we return.”

“That’s alright.”

Lieutenant Little looked them both over, his eyes lingering over Thomas as if he were measuring him up, his face brooding and critical.

He released a short, quiet sigh, shaking his head as he glanced back to the horizon.

“Jopson, you scout ahead, look for anything that might be of interest to the doctor. But keep pace with us,” Little said at last. “I must stay with the doctor. Try to stay within earshot of us at the very least so that any of us can call for help if the need arises.”

Thomas started, surprised at the Lieutenant’s words, uncertain of why he had suddenly changed his mind. He decided not to press the matter.

He started off first, walking ahead at a quicker pace than the two men behind him. Though he was thankful for finally being heard out, he missed the company, realizing how alone he was as he looked at the horizon in all directions ahead of him.

He kept his eyes to the ground, adjusting the gun, holding it at the ready in front of him, unsure of why he did so. He felt safer that way, at least, more prepared. He scoured the ground, kicking up shale, looking for anything that might hold promise and coming up empty handed.

It seemed like he had traveled miles, for several hours when he finally slowed down. He hadn’t let his path deviate, had kept going in a straight line despite his urge to explore more for any plants or specimens.

He had crested a ridge when he finally looked up. The other men were far behind him, out of sight behind the hill he had just come over, which stretched up high to his right. He took one hand off the gun, massaging at the knot that had formed in his neck. His headache hadn’t dissipated, his whole body screaming for him to just stop moving, each breath making his ribs sore.

He scanned the horizon, gathering energy to continue, when his gaze stopped dead.

A figure sat at the top of the hill to his right, large and immovable.

At first, he thought it was one of the white bears the doctor had been so interested in. He tried to convince himself that it was. But, with each moment that passed, the longer it stared at him, the more he realized that it wasn’t. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that was burning like oil in his chest, that tightened in his throat.

He adjusted himself slowly, moving his free hand back to the barrel of his gun, raising it slowly to his shoulder, adjusted his stance so that he was square with the creature.

It heaved several loud breaths, like it was offended, turning itself to face him fully as well.

The next moments seemed to move like lightning.

The creature charged all at once, and Thomas braced the stock of the gun against his shoulder, taking aim down the sights, evening out his breathing. He waited.

He waited until he thought it was close enough that he could feel it’s thundering steps through the ground.

The gun fired and it felt as though the action belonged to someone else, as if he was far away and gone. The shot rang out, the sound cracking through his skull, knocking the wind out of him as he did his best to stay upright, the sound alone like a nail driven through his head.

Thomas remembered something one of the doctors had said a long time ago, a story about having seen a man suffering from scurvy dying at the mere sound of a gunshot. The idea filled him up wordlessly and he wished he had enough time to regret his actions.

The animal reared, screaming, roaring, its voice unnatural and sending him to his knees.

He put his hand to the ground to keep from falling completely over, his eyes trained on the creature as he looked for where is shot had hit.

It collapsed, pawing furiously at it’s face, reeling backwards, scraping across shale in a maddened flurry of motion as it tried to get as far away from what had injured it. Thomas saw blood and the realization that fell on him was muted, harried by the pain that threatened to undo him.

It finally scrambled away, howling furiously, the path it cut ragged and uncertain as it charged past him. He scraped himself away just in time, clearing its path before it could run him over. The thing continued on, not turning back, and he heaved breaths, shaking all over.

He thought he heard someone calling his name and it wasn’t until then that he realized that his ears were ringing.

Hands pulled him backwards so that he was sitting, his back pressed into someone. Light was filling his eyes, making it hard to see.

“ _Blind_ ,” he gasped.

He heard the voice again, sounding urgent, and it took a moment for him to finally understand what they were saying.

“What do you mean, 'blind', Thomas?” It was Lieutenant Little. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s eyes,” Thomas tried again, struggling to string together a sentence. “I think I shot its eyes.”

There was silence for a moment, with nothing but the ringing of his ears to fill it.

###

Thomas tried to remember the rest of the voyage like he might try to recall a dream. He remembered small snatches, brief scenes that, in the darkness of illness and exhaustion and starvation, didn’t make much sense.  
He remembered the outpost. He remembered a ship. He remembered the sound of the docks, the warmth of civilization, hundreds of voices joining up to a chorus.

He woke with a start, jolting. The bed beneath him wasn’t comfortable, but it was a far cry from a pallet on the ground, the covers over him scratchy but warm.

The room he was in was loud, sound echoing off of tiled walls. Tall windows at the far end showed the night sky towering over line upon line of cots, each filled with a familiar face. His own cot was situated in a corner out of the way, underneath a gaslight sconce that washed everything in orange.

To his right was Lieutenant Little, who sat on the edge of his own cot, a nurse or doctor pressing a stethoscope into his back under his shirt. Little gave Thomas a smile that was too tired to hide how relieved he was.

“There you are, Lieutenant,” Little said. “Thought you might give up the ghost on us.”

Thomas stared at him incredulously, trying to put the pieces together in his head.

“How long have I been . . .” Thomas started.

Little shook his head.

“Longer than you want to know.”

There was a small squabble of motion over Little’s shoulder that caught Thomas’s attention and Little looked behind him, following his gaze.

“Please, Mr. Goodsir, you should return to bed,” someone, one of the hospital staff, pleaded, trying to sound as good-natured as possible.

“It’s _doctor_ , and I insist that I see to my friends,” Dr. Goodsir ordered, pushing past the staff member.

Little looked back to Thomas, his smile wider and shining.

“He’s been making his rounds,” Little said. “They’ll have to give him a job for all the work he’s done since he’s gotten here. Won’t sit still for a second.”

Thomas returned the smile, finally sitting up fully, leaning back against the pillows.

The doctor stopped at each cot as he passed, looking over each man in turn, talking to those who were awake, checking on everyone. He finally made it to Little and Thomas, his face brightening when his gaze landed on Thomas.

“Glad to see you awake, Lieutenant,” the doctor said, his tone quiet. “You made quite a hard journey, especially in your condition.”

“I can’t say that I remember any of it,” Thomas answered, his voice still weak. “What happened?”

“We can tell you later,” Little said.

“For now, you need to rest,” Dr. Goodsir finished. “How are you feeling?”

Thomas took a moment to take stock of himself. For the first time in a long time he realized that the question would take careful consideration; his body wasn’t screaming at him in pain anymore, its complaints muted to just whispers. He didn’t feel perfect, just the move to sit upright spent more strength than he could bear, but at least it was a start.

“Better,” he said at last.

“Good,” Little answered, “’cause you look terrible.”

Thomas restrained a laugh.

“And you look like the picture of perfect health, don’t you?” he retorted.

Little’s laugh was booming and Thomas couldn’t restrain his own laugh any longer, letting it loose even though it made his sore ribs hurt even more.

Through the noise he heard sudden steps breaking into a run across the tile floor. He stopped just in time to catch a body flung at him, their arms wrapping like a vice around his neck.

“Thomas!” they shouted, their voice choked.

It took him longer than he cared to admit to recognize the person the voice belonged to but, he realized, it had been four years at least, and his little brother had grown up without him. He felt his heart catch in his chest, skipping several beats as the thought struck him, and he felt his throat tighten, eyes beginning to burn.

“Edward?” he said at last, his own voice cracked.

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” the boy said, though Thomas imagined he was a young man now.

“Of course I was coming back,” Thomas said.

“I’m sorry,” Edward said at last, pulling away, “I didn’t think of your health, I shouldn’t have run at you like that.”

Thomas glanced at the faces around him.

“Edward, this is Dr. Goodsir and Lieutenant Little,” he said, looking at each one in turn. “Doctor, Lieutenant, my little brother.”

They all smiled in return, greeting him warmly. They were allowed to exchange pleasantries and catch up briefly before Edward was finally ushered away.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Edward said as he walked away, “I want to hear all your stories.”

Thomas watched him leave with a sour pang in his chest; though he knew he would see him again, it hurt to be separated.

The room around them was starting to settle again, Dr. Goodsir moving along to the rest of the men as Thomas finally laid back down. He heard another set of footsteps that he thought he recognized, and nearly hurt himself when he tried to sit up again, finally recognizing the person the steps were attached to.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Crozier said, leaning against the wall.

“Cap’n,” Little and Thomas both greeted at once.

“I came to check up on you,” Crozier continued, a warm smile barely tilting the corners of his mouth. “Dr. Goodsir tells me you’re doing well.”

“I think so,” Thomas answered.

“And what of you, Edward?” Crozier asked, turning to Lieutenant Little.

They continued their conversation, voices hushed yet still echoing and Thomas couldn’t help but find peace in it. He laid back down carefully, his mind carried away on the hum of the chatter, falling still as he thought of what stories he was going to tell his little brother, and what stories his friends were going to have to fill him in on.

As he started to fall asleep, Thomas decided that the Arctic looked the most beautiful when recalled in memory, from the safety of a warm bed.


End file.
